Late
by Chen ZiXin
Summary: The year is 1918, and the world is in a state of war. The martians took an extra eighteen years to develop countermeasures to Earth viruses, but as they have done so, human technology increased. Will this small boost in technology help humanity win?
1. Friendly arrival

**Anonymous Martian**

**1918…**

_It was a close call. We had almost wandered into the foreign planet unprepared. We would have died, without achieving anything. But we had prepared. Although we had pushed almost an extra ten of our planetary rotations around our star (eighteen of our alien counterparts), we had developed something that would keep us from dying without the slightest warning. The micro-organisms and cells on the third planet from the star are in much larger quantity and are by far more aggressive than on home. But we will endure them, for we have developed a system of artificial protection cells against the infectious organisms, and many other countermeasures and ways to kill off the excess cells._

_But while _we_ have been developing our immunity to micro-organisms, the local inhabitants of the third planet have developed on their own. Though these people have long been known for developing quicker than the speed they evolve, they have gone beyond what we have predicted. They have developed their own killing smoke, and their own weapons of war. They have developed ways of fighting that would make anyone un-armoured vulnerable. They have even developed crude machines of fighting, that function by circular objects, that change the direction of motion. They have developed their own flying machines. They have been fighting a war amongst themselves for two of our planetary rotations around the star (four of their local counterparts). Their lack of unification is what helps them need to develop._

_But we have also prepared. Instead of transporting our _materials_ to their planet, we shall bring _ready made_ war machines. We have already begun our launching. We have already taken to account where there would be most resistance, of which we must eliminate._

_Before we planned to attack the small island of '_Great Britain_', but now, we must take out their armies first. We shall attack '_Europe_', where their forces are concentrated, and more towards the islands of '_Nippon_', which has recently developed, and the primary continent of the newly formed '_CCCP_', and '_ZhongHua MinGuo_'._

_We must act quickly. __We have prepared more war machines than last time, but we will still be outnumbered. Their strength only increases, while ours decrease with the dying of our home. The battle will be difficult, but we will endure._

We_ shall be the victors._

**Northern France**

**1918, February…**

The trenches were unlike the glorious vision I had for a war hero. At the time I had little Idea that I would be in such a position of havoc, fighting against not the Germans, nor the Austrians, let alone the French, but aliens.

I had been one of those people that survive longer than half a year. I was an ordinary riflemen in my unit, and had been sitting in the trenches reflecting my losing a game of poker, when I saw the shooting stars. They flew right by my position. I didn't believe in wishes, or external powers, but I tried anyway. Funny what I did, wasn't it? I wished that the great powers in our world, like Great Britain, France and Germany, would stop all this nonsense of fighting amongst ourselves.

I went to my sleeping quarters not long after that. That night, I heard the distant crackle of rifle and machine gun fire, that slowly died away. I couldn't help feeling sorry for whichever side had gone over the top.

The next morning, rumours of _them_ had already spread. Beings from out there, coming down in giant metal cans, and tall machines that shot flame and stood on giant stilts, walking at a slow pace.

At the time I thought it was utter nonsense. Maybe it was caused by the fact that absurd rumours were numerous in these trenches. I just sat there, laughing in my mind at how crazy these people were.

"They walk around like giant crabs, shooting some beam at British and German alike! We tried shooting at it but our shots bounced off harmlessly! That was when another two came out of the canister! And before I knew it, I was the last survivor of my whole platoon!" said one soldier, who I could have sworn was shell shocked.

"Just charge at 'em!" said one of the soldiers.

"That's what we did!" replied the shell shocked man, "and the Krauts did likewise! But that made things worse! It tore through our formations like a knife… no, an axe through melting butter!"

I almost choked with laughter. Tommy's and Krauts working together? That's too far fetched, even in our given situation.

"Look!" someone shouted, pointing at the sky. That's when I saw it. A giant cylinder, falling from the sky. There were a large amount of surprised exclamations coming from both our trench, and the Germans. I was so stunned that I had forgotten about how I had mentally criticized the shell shocked veteran.

The cylinder fell into no man's land, between our trench and the Germans.

"That's them!" Shouted the shell shocked veteran. But no one was listening. The captain, as I had later found out, had called the radioman to get artillery and armoured support.

Beings from another planet have come to visit us! Was what I had thought, despite the warnings and rumours of such events. If they had come to our planet, via their own means, then they must be intelligent as well!

The cylinder's top started to unscrew.

Some brave Germans decided to risk their lives (against both the aliens, _and_ our machine guns), and had put together a white flag, and cautiously walked towards the cylinder.

The cylinder's top had opened completely, and from inside, came out what looked like a camera, mounted on a tentacle.

Everyone was too fixed on the machine to pay any attention to the warnings of the veteran.

Then a jet of intense heat shot out and _incinerated_ the Germans who held the white flag.

Despite the fact that we have fought the Germans for years, it felt incredibly inhumane to just kill off those men, who had mustered together more bravery than any other man in their army, and made a peace offering.

Then, from the canister, came, one… then another… then a third leg. From inside the canister, crawled out a giant, towering, colossal seeming machine. It stood there with it's three legs like tripod stilts, it's giant hood like head, multiple tentacles, and the heat ray limb. It looked around at it's surroundings. At the German trench, and then ours. Of the abandoned wasteland. No mans land. But they were not mere men. They were Martians.

After seeing the actions of this machine against their comrades, the Krauts began to shoot at the machine, though the bullets bounced off, causing no more than a scratch, just like the veteran had said.

As the tripod began to attack the German position, a second tripod came out from the cylinder.

"Open fire!" came the order. And though the men were still dazed, we began to shoot, emptying our clips harmlessly at the Martians.

The tripod aimed the heat ray in our direction, and started incinerating our troops. A few of us had the sense to duck, but most of us were caught in the invisible flame, and died instantaneously.

In all the confusion, I hardly noticed many things until later. Such as the Germans charging on the tripod, the order for us to do likewise, the third tripod exiting the canister, or the commencing of our artillery bombardment.

As I scrambled up out of the trench, the tripod came under attack by artillery. Though most shells missed and ended up hitting us, some of the shots hit on the machines. One such shot hit the leg of the tripod attacking the Germans, and the tripod fell, unable to support itself. That was when the Krauts charged recklessly at the Martians, but were quickly dispatched.

I soon found myself in a ditch made by explosions, and I fired a few shots at the tripod. It was as I began to reload that I noticed there was a German sitting next to me, shivering.

That was when I began to regret my wish. And also when I began to wonder how funny our situation was. We were enemies only hours… no, minutes ago, and yet, we find ourselves seeking refuge in a ditch against a common adversary.


	2. Peculiar situation

**Anonymous Martian**

**1918**

_The invasion has begun. The natives of this planet are struggling to keep up. It has been a short while since our invasion has begun, and we have taken casualties much more than data has led us to expect. The locals are seemingly incapable of the natural fear of extinction and death that other animals feel. They charge recklessly at our war machines with their feeble firearms, knowing _and_ ignoring our obvious superior fighting capacities._

_That is how most of our comrades have died. Trying to kill off the rushing hordes of the pests from _both_ sides of their war, who formed an non-negotiated armistice, while suddenly being hit by canisters of explosive heat._

_But no matter how reckless the enemy may be, they know just as much as we do._

We_ are supreme._

**Northern France**

**1918, February…**

Both me and the German were sitting in our little ditch, petrified by what we had seen. It was only later that I had found out there was an armistice, and that many others were in situations like ours. But I still found it quite peculiar.

When the tripods finished off the last of our suicide charges, they began striding South in a casual manner, overlooking the ditch we sat in.

The war against the Martians was going far from well. It was said that over two hundred cylinders had, or were expected to land in Europe, with three tripods each. Another twenty or so landed in the United States, a dozen had landed in Imperial Japan, and couple landed in China.

Most of the people had been shocked by the Martian appearance so much that many ignored their superior officers commands of attack. In some situations the officers themselves were in shock and abandoned their posts. In others some officers were shot in panic.

We had succeeded in destroying a few of their tripods via the same method; have infantry distract the tripods in hordes while artillery bombards them.

I was sitting in the ditch. A bit shell shocked, thinking about my situation, and even starting to doze of when I felt a light tap on my shoulder.

I jerked in fear (as I had forgotten that the German was alive), and looked at the Jerry, who held a finger to his mouth in an international signal of 'shut the heck up!' followed by him beckoning me to look outside of our little crater.

I slowly peep my head over the top of the crater, and look in the direction the Hun was pointing to. It was the Martian tripod that the artillery had damaged. But now, the head of the fighting machine had opened, and there was what seemed like a giant, bear sized, brown and oily octopus trying to fix the machine with some of the most peculiar tools I had ever seen. The creature (I had concluded that this was probably the pilot of the machine) was acting quite erratically and jerky, like it was afraid of something. It took me a while to realise the vulnerability of this monstrosity.

I aimed my Lee Enfield rifle at the hideous creature. But before I could fire, I heard a loud _Bang! _from beside me, and the Martian jerked once more before it stopped moving. The shot was unmistakeably a mauser shot.

I turned to look at the Hun. He looked as nervous as I felt. He had sweat all over his face, and was breathing heavily. Then I noticed that I was as well.

After a few seconds of silence (except for our panting), I finally broke into a nervous laughter, and patted the Boche on the back. He then started to relax a bit and laughed with me. Eventually our laughter became made cheering and hooting, completely oblivious to the world around us.

But otherwise, considering where I was at the time, I had lost hope. I was sitting in a muddy hole, in the middle of a wasteland, next to who I would have called an arch enemy an hour ago, both of us about to pee ourselves from paranoia and shock.

At noon, the Jerry got out a couple of field biscuits (which didn't look too much more appetizing than our field biscuits) and offered me one. I turned him down, because I liked my teeth quite the way they were.

For most of the time we spent together we were both somehow getting on the way you expect two war veterans to do in a bar. Playing cards (with different rules), smoking (each others smokes) and yelling at each other whenever we suspected the opposition was cheating, or had a whore for a mother (in different languages).

When it was around night time, and the night started to set, the German peeped out of the ditch again, and looked around.

Satisfied, he started to climb out, turning around only to say the "adieu" before he disappeared towards his side of no mans land.

Not long after that, I crawled back to my trench as well. The details of the rest of that night are hazy, but I had madly concluded that I had just had an amazing dream and would wake up if I sleep in my trench.

I must sadly report that I was quite disappointed in the following morning.


	3. Round two

**Anonymous Martian**

**1918…**

_It has been one planetary rotation since our arrival to this planet. We have been beating back the natives, while suffering a number of casualties doing so. The success of our course varies a small amount from one region to another. Both sides of the local war are agreeing to come together in a vague effort to resist our superior might._

_The locals are now known for their lack of intuition. Even the lower life forms of the local planet know to fear us and retreat. The dominant bipedal beings however, know not when to have peace, or when to surrender. They charge at us from impulsive urges of their naïve heroism._

_We are, __however,__ still dominant on this planet. We can do it. We can win._

**Northern France**

**1918, February…**

I woke up with the sound of boots thudding around the trench's wooden floor boards. I still felt relatively sleep deprived. I looked around at the people who came marching in. All of them were new. Fresh recruits, dragged over here from boot camp.

At the time, I started to think, 'they're all too tidy. They'll be slaughtered in seven seconds flat.' Then I suddenly wondered, 'why are there so many replacements? Where is the original battalion?'

I slowly began to go over the possibilities, refusing to believe that the nightmare I had was real.

That hope was instantly obliterated when a young, fresh faced private, who looked too young to actually be in the army (most rookies were like that), came up to me.

"Excuse me sir," he began, "are you from the previous battalion?"

"Previous?" I asked (a little more shaky than I had expected), "what do you mean previous?"

"Well, we were told that just about everyone on the frontline went missing after these giant metal monsters appeared from the sky."

The boy (I assumed he was under the age of eighteen) described all the information that the people in reserve were informed of. It was common belief by the replacements, and those who didn't fight the Martians that giant canisters fell from the sky and blasted at both sides with giant guns, but were quickly dispatched after valiant charges of our soldiers. The Germans were not mentioned at all, other than there being a ceasefire.

Obviously, not enough survivors had been able to tell of the Martians accurately. Rumour had it that the Martians would be easier to fight than the Huns, as they had fewer people.

"Where is the commander?" I asked.

"Lieutenant Barley is over there," gestured the boy, "I'm not sure where the Captain is though."

The man was relatively stout, and a bit to plump compared to my previous officers. Barely out of officer school.

I walked over to the overfed child of a soldier. "Hey!" I yelled. It astonishes me how rude I was acting out of my shock. "Hey you!"

The officer turned to look at me. At first he was enraged by being addressed in such a manner, but seeing my rag-tad attire blew away most of his confidence.

"Who are you? What Battalion are you from?" He demanded in a voice that betrayed him.

I quickly gave a relay of my rank and unit. "Do you have any idea what we are up against?" I ask.

"Of course I do!" He replied, trying his best to feign confidence. "We're fighting men from Mars."

I sighed. "And do you think we can win?"

"Definitely!"

"Well you could never be more wrong in you're life!" I exclaimed. "We aren't fighting _men_ from _anywhere! _We're fighting against monsters from a hell that is above us!"

I explained to the fresh faced lieutenant (and most of the platoon, as they all turned to look who had the nerve to berate an officer) of what happened that previous day. Of the landing of the Martians, the slaughter that took place and the day that I spent in with the German soldier.

"Preposterous!" Said the lieutenant, gaining some confidence after talking to a mad man. "You must be shell shocked!"

I felt enraged by the man's inability to understand the complexity of the situation, and I was about to elaborate further when my train of thought was broken by the sound of distant gunfire further south.

One of the recruits nearby tried to peak up over the trench, but I quickly grabbed him and pulled him back in out of reflex.

The sound of battle slowly faded away into nothingness. Not long afterward, a new battle started closer towards our position, but was cut away too. Gradually the sound of battle came towards our direction, until it was audibly at the battalion next to ours.

It seemed that the Captain had shown up on time to witness the battle. "To your stations!" he shouted, with a cold type of confidence that was reassuring for a brief moment.

Everyone in the trench was trying to remain as calm as they could. I remember thinking them as foolish at the time. I knew there was no hope of us wining against the almost god-like opposition of which we were to face.

The sound of machine-gun and rifle fire eventually silenced once again.

The suspense brought by the situation had made me want to scream. To shout. To make as much noise as physically possible, just so the silence would be filled. I knew, however, that had I done so, the captain would have me shot personally.

By then the striding of the Martian machines were audible, and I was quite sure that I heard a dead tree being uprooted (I hoped that said tree was not used as a forward spy post).

Suddenly, the striding of the machines stopped. I tried everything to block away the image of the Martian war machines looking into our trench, aiming their heat ray to blast all contents within.

Most of the men in the trench (myself included) had looked over the trench to see things for themselves, and we found that the _Boche_ did likewise.

There were four of the Martian war machines, standing in the middle of no mans land, in what seemed vaguely like a crescent formation. They stood there, with their bodies facing the sky, and their tentacle appendixes limp, like a man pondering something about space.

Then, one of the tripods howled louder than a steamboat, waving it's limbs ceremoniously, "Aloo!" Soon the other Martians followed. "Aloo! Aloo!"

It was as if they were performing a war cry or a ritual of some sort. Any which way, I had the action was not one of sufficient intellectual thought, as the deafening howl would assist in alerting both our armies, and the German ones of their presence and location. At the time, I did not know that the Martians could not hear in our atmosphere.

I don't remember who fired first between the us, the Germans or the Martians, but I remember that half of the battalion was incinerated within the first few shots.

The Martian machines were shooting at us half-heartedly the way a man would sweep at flies. I wondered how they thought of our attacks. When we fire at them, do they see a united military? Do our weapons seem like toys to them? Do they view us the way we view an infestation of rats?

A shot impacted onto one of the machine's hood. We cheered at the sight of the machine stumbling, but the Martian quickly regained it's footing, and faced the direction of the German trenches. It shot what looked at first like a series of artillery shells. The Martian then turned to the direction of our artillery positions and fired another series of small canisters. Not long after, the sound of artillery fire diminished to what I estimated was less than two batteries. The canisters shot were filled with poisonous gas, and the artillerymen did not have time to put on gas masks, and died in agony, and what seemed in vain at the time.

The firing from the trenches had general stopped completely. Many people were crawling out of the trenches in an effort to run from the Metal warriors, only for half of them to be quickly cut down by another half-hearted ray of invisible heat.

The tripods continued to walk Northward, to areas that they have not swept up yet, ignoring the fleeing stragglers, though occasionally shooting a few short jets of heat at a persistent machine gun nest, or remaining artillery.

Then, I heard the cheering voices of men. Everyone was looking towards our side of the battlefield and cheering, and I turned to see a sight of loud, clumsy, bulky, clattering machines of human, of _British_ manufacture. Rolling slowly towards the Martians was a line of about a dozen tanks (land ships was the more official name, but the name tank stuck to the bulky, water tank like vehicles).

That was when I concluded that the Martians simply must acknowledge our intelligence, for us to be able to design such machines.

**Authors note: **I apologise that this fanfic is taking so long to write. I was a little stuck on how to write the first few chapters, and kept procrastinating.

Thanks for all the reviews, it convinced me to continue writing.

And to anyone who may have misunderstood the summary, this is about what would have happened if the Martians decided to invade in the middle of the first world war, rather than in 1900 as in the original novel.


End file.
